


Seducing Archie Andrews

by blue_spectacles



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Bisexual Archie Andrews, Demisexual Jughead Jones, Fluff and Angst, Homeless Jughead, Jughead Jones is NOT asexual in this fic, Making Out, Multi, OT3, Pre-OT3
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-08
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-10-01 09:39:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10186553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_spectacles/pseuds/blue_spectacles
Summary: Betty is dating Jughead, but she still has a massive crush on Archie. That’s okay, Jughead does too. Together, they make plans to seduce Riverdale’s most eligible redhead.





	1. Chapter 1

So far they’ve been doing whatever it is they’re doing – not _dating_ , exactly – for a week. By that he means - making out in quick sporadic stolen moments, but more often making eyes at each other, smiling, fingers brushing against the back of knuckles, that sort of thing. But they don’t _talk_ about any of it.

Jughead tries to broach the subject and Betty dances around it, eyes flickering distractedly, mouth turning downwards. When she gets agitated he drops it. Of course she had a lot on her mind – her sister is missing, her parents are crazy. And God knows the last thing Jughead ever wants to do is add to the already monstrous pile of Betty Cooper’s stress. 

But.

But he hates when he says something – even jokingly - and a scared, panicky look comes into her eyes. “Do we have to talk about this _right now_ , Juggie?”

“Of course not. Sorry. It’s – it’s fine.”

_What are you thinking, Betty Cooper? Do you even like me, or am I just a distraction from Polly and Jason, and your parents, and the toxic fucking stranglehold of this town?_

It’s hard to believe Riverdale was once safe and charming, even quaint. As hard as it is to believe that the relationship he had with Betty Cooper and Archie Andrews was once simple and uncomplicated. Why did they even have to grow up and develop hormones and desires and hurt feelings and petty jealousies – it’s like some sick cosmic joke. What he wouldn’t give for them to be six years old, playing pirates in his treehouse all day long, reading comic books and eating ice cream and hot dogs and – okay, if he starts thinking about food he’s going to get distracted, but –

Shit. It isn’t like he doesn’t have his own problems, you know? Like a home he can’t go back to and a drunk small-time criminal for a dad. Not that Betty, for all her keen observations and cleverness and sleuthing, ever even asks about his life.

_No, don’t get bitter, it doesn’t matter, just –_

_Just –_

They’re sitting in chemistry class and Betty is sitting with him, at the back, but with her chin resting on her hand and her gaze drifting away from Mr. Flutesnoot and settling on one _Archie Andrews_ and lingering there while he awkwardly flirts with Veronica. Her shoulders heave and she sighs. Wistful. Disappointed. And he’d be stupid if he didn’t see he was a conciliation prize.

He wishes he felt angry about this, like Moose going on a rampage whenever someone flirts with his girl, but he just feels tired. Betty is the best human being he’s ever known and he wants her to be happy. She deserves to be happy. He just wishes she was happy with him.

So maybe he should be pissed at Archie – the guy already has both Valerie and Veronica openly crushing on him, Cheryl makes eyes at him in the hallway, even Kevin talks about hot Archie’s gotten. Although the muscles, they’re not what’s _really_ attractive about Archie Andrews and he thinks they all know it – it’s just a convenient thing to talk about when you’re trying to describe what makes a pasty ginger kid so god damn irresistible to an entire student body (and certain morally corrupt members of the faculty.) 

Archie Andrews is a good guy. He’s a jock without being a bully, he’s popular without being conceited, he’s got talent but he’s humble about it, and he always tries to do the right thing. _Hating Archie_ –well, he can’t really do it. Even after he stood him up on July 4 th (and don’t think that didn’t _sting._ ) Even after the mess with Ms. Grundy or whatever-the-fuck her real name was. Not even _right now_ , when he can sit there, not doing a damn thing, and still be the centre of Betty Cooper’s universe.   

He feels like Echo calling after Narcissus when it comes to the two of them.

But he still follows Betty, does whatever she asks, because every moment he gets to spend with her now is sacred. He’s counting down the seconds until this fragile thing they have shatters and implodes.

It doesn’t take long.

 

~*~

 

They’re sharing a booth at Pop’s. Betty’s milkshake is hardly touched, she’s been quiet and casting him nervous, glances all evening, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth and he can feel it coming like you can feel a storm rolling in. “Juggie, I –”

“It’s okay,” he cuts her off. They really don’t need to do the whole break-up speech, with the crying and the ‘we’ll always be friends.’

“No, it isn’t!” she shakes her head. Her eyes are wet and huge on her pale face. “You’ve been so great through all of this – you’re such a good friend. And – and _I love you_ , I do, but –” she chokes, breath hitching and he winces a little. He wishes they could all just be happy again, like they used to, when happiness was uncomplicated. She jerks a hand through her hair, yanking several strands loose from her tight ponytail. “God, I’m so _ashamed_ -”

He reaches across the cold Formica table and puts his hands over hers, not possessive, just sheltering them because they’ve started to tremble like little wounded birds and he can’t bare the sight. “Don’t be, Bets. It’s not – I’m not angry, or anything –”

“God, Juggie, I wish I could just turn it off, my feelings – my head –” she pulls her hands away then to wipe the tears away from her eyes and he feels empty. “But I can’t stop thinking about Archie. I’m still in love with him.”

“That’s okay.”

She blinks at him, and laughs a little, rocking backwards on the edge of hysteria. “No, no, Juggie, it _isn’t_! It isn’t fair to you and –”

“So am I.”

She’s suddenly quiet, frozen.

He shrugs slightly. “I mean, it’s _Archie_.” As though that explains it. Maybe it does.

“Wha . . .” she stares at him, forgetting to blink so the tears drip down onto her face. Suddenly she snaps out of it, shaking her head. She hunches over the counter towards him, suddenly intent. Suddenly she’s reporter-Betty grilling him for a juicy interview. “Oh my God, Juggie, _are you gay_?”

 “Ah . . . no,” he says after a minute, brow furrowing. “At least, I don’t think so. I mean, I like _you_.”

“You _like_ me, like me?” she asks, like they’re in fourth grade again.

He could say something mean and sarcastic here, like: _What, all the making out wasn’t a clue_? But he swallows that impulse and simply nods, not breaking her gaze.

She blushes. And Betty Cooper is so damn cute when she blushes he can hardly stand it.

“Um, so you’re, like, bi?”

He shakes his head again. “I don’t . . . I mean _maybe_. But it doesn’t really . . . feel right, you know? I don’t like other guys. Hell, I don’t like other girls, for that matter. Just you.”

She licks her lips. “And Archie.”

“. . . And Archie.”

“Huh.” She relaxes back in her seat, playing with her ponytail and seemingly thinking about this. _Seriously_ thinking about it. More than he was expecting. He thought they’d be officially broken up by this point in the conversation, but maybe not. She licks her lip and looks at him again, searching his eyes and he doesn’t know what she’s looking for so he just gazes back. Glad she’s not gone. Wondering what she’s thinking.

Eventually Pop comes by and asks if they want anything more and Betty orders another milkshake, despite the fact that she hasn’t finished her one from before. “Oh, and two straws, Pop, please. We’re sharing.”

She smiles at Jughead and her eyes sparkle and a massive weight uncurls around his heart. For the first time all night he feels the corners of his lips tug up into a smile of his own.

“Thank you for being honest with me,” says Betty and she leans across the counter again, that conspiratorially glint in her eyes like she’s planning something incredibly dangerous and maybe illegal and he wants in, doesn’t he? (Hell yes.) This time she captures his hand, pinning it there with surprising, startling strength. “I have a _plan_.”

This should be good.

Jughead is picky about who he likes. He knows Betty’s pretty – very pretty – beautiful, even. He’s aware of her long legs and soft lips and shiny blonde hair. He’s aware of all these things, but that’s not why he’s attracted to her. He’s attracted to her because she’s _Betty_. She’s friendly and warm, compassionate, intelligent, brave – and recently, a little bit wild. A little bit dangerous.

He heard of how she and Veronica teamed up to seduce Chuck in order to expose him as a creep. He’d assumed it was mostly Veronica’s plan, but, oh no, Betty has a _wild side_ which he must say is intriguing. Like right now, when she reaches across the table and grips his hands and looks him right in the eyes and says: “I think we should _seduce_ Archie. You and me. Together.” 

And alright, it takes him a minute to process this and get his thoughts together. She continues squeezing his hand so hard – like she’s afraid he’s gonna bolt.

“Come on, it’ll be fun!” her eyes lit up. “With you helping me, I’ll be more confident. I won’t just be boring old Betty Cooper –”

“Uh, there’s really nothing boring about Betty Cooper,” Jughead says. And when she sighs and gives him a skeptical look he says, “Good God, woman! You’ve launched a murder-investigation, uncovered a secret identity, spied on your parents, and now you’re talking about initiating a bisexual three-way with the most popular guy at Riverdale High? Who the hell would think you’re _boring_?” 

She blushes again, but her smile widens and she looks pleased and flattered. “So you’re . . . in?”

“I am yours to command, milady.” 

She laughs.

“But I really don’t see how you think my presence will help. If anything you have a better shot on your own. I mean, I know he said . . . what he said, about not feeling that way, but, Betty – you’re a fucking _supernova_. He’d have to be _blind_ to turn you down a second time. And me? Come on, I’m no one. I’m the weird loner kid that no one likes.”

She kicks his leg under the table. “Don’t talk about yourself that way. Besides, I happen to know a secret about Archie.” 

And before he has time to think: _that’s just great. Archie, my one-time best friend, is keeping_ more _secrets from me?_

She leans closer and whispers: “ _Archie is bi._ ”

Jughead frowns. “Are you sure? Because he seems to like the ladies. _Really_ like the ladies.”

“He’s shy about it. He thinks the other jocks wouldn’t understand, that they’d give him a hard time.”

“But he could have to told us-” Jughead shakes his head, swallowing. He did. Well, he told _Betty_. And as much as Jughead loves both of them that still hurts. He’s still being left out.

Betty’s eyes are soft and he doesn’t like the pity he sees there, so he glances out the window instead. “I’m sure he would have told you, too . . . it’s just . . . things between you guys have been weird since the summer, right?”

He lets out a wavering sigh. That’s true. They still haven’t shaken off the stress of everything that happened. They might have said they were back to being friends, but . . . his chest aches. He wants that closeness with Archie again. Well, if Betty’s plan works he’ll have that and more, right?

He glances back at her. She’s silent while Pop returns with their milkshake, sliding it between them.  

Once Pop wanders back to the counter, Jughead meets her gaze. They share a drink, sipping shyly on the straws that bring their foreheads together.

“Alright . . .” he says, elbows on the table, their eyes inches apart, “so what’s your plan, oh fiendish seductress of the innocent?”

She laughs loudly, laughs so hard tears prick the corners of her eyes and he’s glad that this time they’re there for a _good_ thing. When she can breathe again, she looks at him and grins, like a cat that’s about to catch the canary. Sliding around to his side of the booth, Betty wedges herself in half on-top of him and suddenly he’s being kissed so hard it’s making his head spin. Her arms wined around his neck and he has his hands gripping her waist to help her balance as she straddles him, knees pushing into the cushioned bench. 

“Okay, you two!” Pop hollers from behind the counter. “I know it’s hard to be young and in love, but do that someplace else, ‘kay?”

Betty pulls away and Jughead feels like one of those dazed cartoon characters with little birds and stars flying around their head – but in a good way.  

 

~*~

  

“Archie’s dad is going away for the weekend,” Betty tells him by way of greeting, as she slides down onto the couch next to him. They’re in the student lounge and it’s almost deserted this early in the morning. The bell for first period is still fifteen minutes away and the sky outside is grey, the air heavy with mist. Jughead broke in to the school hours before and crashed on the couch, tired of the wet and cold seeping through his sleeping bag. Not that Betty needs to know that, there’s nothing she can do about it anyway, so he’s careful to hide his stuff before she arrives. 

“There’s some convention or something he’s going to,” she continues.

Jughead’s just glad to have her sitting there with him warm and sweet-smelling. Her hair smells like gummy bears, of all things. (God, he loves her.)  “So Archie’s home alone and we make our move?” he whispers, brushing the side of her cheek with his nose and lips.

She smiles, leaning into the contact until she ends up with her head on his shoulder. He loops his arm around her as she snuggles into him. “I have some things I need in my locker here . . .” she says. He wonders what those things could be, but doesn’t ask. Betty just keeps surprising him. It’s kind of glorious. 

“I’m going to have to sneak out. My parents are . . . well, you know. It’ll be easier if I meet you over there – at Archie’s. Say just after midnight?”

“And what are we going to do, knock on the front door?” 

“Don’t be silly,” she elbows him playfully. “We’re going to break in.”

“Of course,” he half-smirks at her, “how could I be so foolish as to assume we would be doing things the nice, safe legal way?”

“You remember where they keep the spare key, by the back door?”

He nods and his heart has already started beating louder with excitement. This is so fucking wrong, but all he can think is: _well, Carpe-fucking diem, I guess,_ and, _I would follow you into Hell itself, Betty Cooper._  



	2. Chapter 2

 

She’s lying in bed awake, on top of the covers, fully dressed, in the dark, waiting for her psycho parents to go to sleep. She’s trying to avoid looking at her phone to check the time, because she’s been doing it every _two seconds_ and _really, Betty, get a grip._ But her stomach is full of butterflies and her heart is pounding and she wants this so badly she could die. 

Right?

Betty is nervous (borderline terrified) and _so_ excited – she can’t believe they’re _doing_ this, she can’t believe Jughead _agreed_. It’s like rising to the top of a rollercoaster before the sudden, downward plunge, or leaping off a diving board, hanging suspended in the air for that split-second. She keeps balling her hands in the sheets and telling herself to calm down, but she fucking _can’t_ because this is – this is _everything_ she _ever_ wanted. She and Jughead are going to _seduce_ Archie. Everything’s going to work out. Everything’s going to be _perfect_ – her and Jughead and Archie together, like they should be.

And they’ll be happy. _She’ll_ be happy and she’ll feel _real,_ finally, not just like a pale imitation of those other girls, the Veronicas and Cheryls of the world. For so long she thought she couldn’t compete with them, but Jughead makes her feel like she’s good enough.

So.

No more playing the ‘nice’ one, the boring goody two-shoes girl next-door who’s good enough to listen to your problems at three in the morning when you text her, _Archie_ , but not good enough to go to the dance with unless she also invites _Veronica_ along.

And okay, maybe she came across as weepy, or needy, or clingy the first time she told Archie how she felt about him, but she’s still trying to learn how to _do_ this, alright?

This time she’ll be . . .

For a minute she wishes her relationship with Archie could be like it is with Jughead – so easy, so natural and sweet and _perfect._ He just _knows_ her and he knows what she _needs_. His lips were so soft the first time they pressed against her own, and gentle. It was so warm, so good.

Betty feels a flash of guilt tear through her gut – what if she’s ruining what she and Jughead have? What if her obsession with Archie is just an overblown adolescent crush that she should let go of? What if she just wants him out of _habit_ at this point?

What if she hurts Jughead? What if he decides this is too much and too weird and backs out and leaves her and tells everyone she’s crazy and never speaks to her again and-

_Okay, Betty, calm down,_ she tells herself sternly. _Breathe. Relax. Don’t think those things. Don’t go down that path. Jughead already said he’s into this._ _He’s stuck by you through all the other craziness, right?_

She can count on Jughead. She realizes it’s true with a wash of certainty and warmth and comfort so sudden and shocking she almost starts to cry. And Betty knows in her heart of hearts that if this _thing_ she’s planning with Archie doesn’t work out – if he freaks and throws them out, or laughs at them, or most realistically is his usual sweet self and lets them down gently, she and Juggie are the _new_ End Game. If it doesn’t work out with Archie they’ll be bummed, but they’ll be together and with the Archie tension hopefully resolved.

_Closure._ Maybe that’s what she really wants. And, well . . . Well, _what_? She licks her lips, thinking of Jughead’s hands on her, warm and gentle and a little bit shy.  She knows she wants _more_ with him. They should have done more together, before tonight. She feels bad about that. And she wonders what Jughead will think when he sees her in her bad girl outfit.

Her heart’s beating again, pounding furiously and she wonders if this is how Polly felt about Jason, and she wonders if her mom would ship her off to a padded cell in a prison for ‘trouble youth’ if she knew half of what Betty was planning. But she can’t worry about that now. She’s not going to _not_ live her life because of everything that’s happened, if anything it makes her more desperate to do what she wants and do it _soon_ , do it _NOW, RIGHT NOW_ because tomorrow might not ever come, tomorrow there might be strangers downstairs ready to throw her in the back of a van and drag her off kicking and screaming into the night.

And she wants . . . _needs ._ . . this before she ends up like Polly, or Jason.

Betty lifts her phone and checks the time again, 12:10. She lies perfectly still and quiet and listens to the house. The TV in her parents’ room has been off for about an hour and she can’t hear anything, but her mom . . . she’s terrified of fucking this up and getting caught because that will be the end of everything. 

There’s a soft thud at her window, so gentle she wouldn’t have noticed if she hadn’t been concentrating so absolutely hard on the stillness. _Jughead._ She sits up, sliding off the bed. She’s already got her jacket on, but she carries her shoes in hand so her feet don’t make a sound on the carpet. She snatches her backpack off the ground and slings it over one shoulder while she unlatches the window and jerks it open. 

Jughead is on the ladder, once again liberated from her mother’s garden shed, and he leans over the windowsill. She kisses him and it’s impossible not to feel electrified. This is the craziest, best thing she’s ever done. Jughead doesn’t speak – even whisper – just takes her bag and helps her climb out the window. Betty balances with him on the ladder and it feels like she can finally breathe, drinking in the cool night air.

Looking up, it feels like she’s flying just below the stars. They’re pretty high up she guesses, and it’s dark, except for the stars and street lights, but with Jughead’s arms around her she’s not scared at all.

They close her window as gently as a kiss and climb down the ladder as quietly as possible. It isn’t until they’re off Betty’s property and have scooted through the shadows to the shelter of the Andrews’ back porch that Jughead grabs her hand and pulls her close for another kiss and she giggles breathlessly against his mouth.

“Ready?” he asks, breathing in her ear.

“Ready,” she whispers back. “And I thought I told you I’d meet you over here?”

“Yeah, but how were you going to get out? Besides, I was careful. I watched the place. Your parents’ bedroom light’s been off for an hour.”

She’s relieved and hugs him tightly for a moment, wondering if he can feel her heart pounding away.

“Are you sure you want to do this, Bets?” he says so quietly, so carefully, and she feels that flash of guilt again. Sure, he said he liked Archie too – half the school does – but that doesn’t necessarily mean he really wants to do this.   
  
She touches his shoulder gently and tries to see his face through the darkness and the Andrews’ flickering, failing porchlight. “We don’t _have_ to, Juggie . . . I mean, we could go to your place and –”   

“No,” he says so suddenly and forcefully she finds herself blinking at him.

“I just meant . . .”

“No, no, I’m sorry, it’s just . . . you had your heart set on this, right? You’ve been thinking about it for a long time and, hell, I have to. Let’s snag our ginger stallion, Betty.”

She laughs quietly into his shoulder but files away his initial reaction for later study. She hasn’t been over to Jughead’s house in _years_ , when she thinks of it – not since he had the treehouse and everything, when they were kids. The way she remembered it, his dad was gone a lot of nights anyway, not like her parents, so you’d think it would be an ideal spot for . . . _well_.

She’ll ask him about it tomorrow, she decides.

They get the key from its spot under the welcome mat and creak the backdoor open gently. Jughead motions for her to go inside. “Ladies first,” he whispers.

She stumbles into a dark mudroom, gripping her backpack to her chest. Mr. Andrews’ car wasn’t in the drive – he’s away, just like she heard. The lights are all off downstairs, but if she knows Archie, he’ll be up surfing the web or working on his songs.

Sure enough, when they reach the living room they hear faint chords of music drifting down, just odd notes plucked out lazily between long intervals. She can’t help but smile as she looks at the ceiling and feels bad that they’ve missed so much of Archie’s newest passion. They didn’t even get to see him perform at the festival. 

Jughead comes up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. “The kid’s not bad,” he murmurs into her hair. She smiles, putting a hand over his arm. “Are you imagining us on the road following his future band . . . the Archie groupies . . . the _Archies_.”

“Ha _ha_ ,” she replies dryly, slapping his arm away. “Wait here for a second. I’m going to go change.”

“Change?”

“Just _wait_ ,” she insists, taking her backpack and moving through the dark house.

It’s a good thing she and Jughead have both been here so many times over the years – they know the place as well as they know they’re own homes and she gets to the bathroom in seconds. With the door shut, she turns on the light and studies herself in the mirror.

_Say goodbye to boring Betty_.

She shrugs off her coat, kicks off her shoes and quickly peels off her jeans and sweater, leaving it all in a heap on the tile. Next comes the bra and underwear – her boring, white cotton underwear and sports bra. From her bag she digs out the black lacy bra and panties that make her feel like a _super villainess_. Like someone cool and calm and in control. Someone who – unlike Betty – gets what they want.

The black wig helps with the illusion, makes her feel strange and powerful, like she’s free from being the nice little blonde girl and all the expectations that have been heaped on-top of her over the years. She’s not that girl when she puts on the wig and sees a sexy, mystery woman gazing back at her in the mirror. 

Make up – that dark red lipstick her mom hates, and dark eyeliner _almost_ complete the look. Just one more thing – for the final touch she pulls on a pair of sexy as hell and not at all practical black stilettos.

Betty Cooper plays softball and works in her garden and goes hiking and camping and helps her dad work on cars - she wears sensible, practical running shoes and converse and not this. _Now_ she looks like someone out of a movie. _Now_ she looks like someone a boy like Archie Andrews won’t be able to resist.

She smiles and the strange dark-haired woman in the mirror smiles back.

 

~*~

 

Betty is a little nervous about what Jughead will say when he sees her (and a little excited.) She walks back into the Andrews’ living room, turning on a lamp that should create just enough of an atmospheric glow. But as she stands there, Jughead only looks at her for a moment like he’s lost. He opens his mouth, as though he wants to say something, only to shut it again and frown.

“ _What_?” she asks, suddenly feeling self-conscious, like maybe she should have put a robe on overtop, or something. She moves her arms a little nervously, not quite trying to cover herself, but. “You don’t . . . you don’t like it?”

 “It’s not that . . . are those shoes comfortable?” 

“Wha . . . seriously? It’s . . . they’re supposed to be . . . you don’t think they look sexy?”

“Betty, I think you _always_ look sexy,” Jughead says, crossing the room and putting his hands gently on her arms. He cups her face in one hand and she leans into the touch, trying to relax. “I’m sorry. You look great, Bets, _really_. It’s just . . . I don’t think you need all this make-up and stuff. You’re already fucking _beautiful_.”

She shuts her eyes because Jughead’s gaze on her is just too damn sincere. He’s the opposite of Chuck – who had looked everywhere _but_ her face – and it’s almost too much. Jughead stares into her eyes with so much _intensity_ \- like he’s trying to read her thoughts.

“I don’t . . . I don’t feel beautiful,” she says, wanting to explain, not knowing how. And damn the wig, the sexy black lingerie, it’s supposed to help! She isn’t supposed to feel this nervous, this upset -

Jughead leans closer, brushing their foreheads together and rubbing her arms. After a minute he says: “Do these clothes make you feel sexy?” he asked, his voice low and husky, his breathe hot against her skin.

“Yeah – yes . . .” she murmurs, and it turned into a quiet moan when Jughead suddenly dips his head and sucks on her neck.

“Then I like them,” he whispers, after a minute, licking her. She shivers. “I think you’re sexy as Hell, Bets.”

She can’t make coherent words, maybe she mumbles something, but she’s too busy pushing Jughead’s jacket off and shoving him backwards towards the couch. She helps him tug off his sweatshirt and almost tears the buttons off on the shirt he’s wearing underneath. “Did you have to wear so many clothes?” she asks, almost growling.

In a second they’re on the couch, Jughead shirtless and her on his lap, kissing him hungrily, her hands raking through his thick dark hair.

She’s almost forgotten why they’re _there_ , every inch of her skin feels electrified when she’s pressed up against Jughead. His hands run over her, up and down her back and her sides and her stomach, but not . . . “It’s okay, you can –” she says around kissing, taking one of his hands and guiding it up to the swell of her breast, almost spilling out of the black lace. Jughead shifts beneath her, tugging her closer and she can feel how hard he is through his jeans and she kisses him more fiercely than before, biting his lip. He gasps against her mouth and -

The hall light flicks on.

They both freeze, both breathing heavily – panting, really – faces flushed and eyes bright and oh, right, _the plan_.

Betty eases back, sliding off of Jughead enough to half-turn to see Archie, standing in the doorway in a pair of old sweatpants, no shirt, looking stunned. 

Maybe a little _too_ stunned, she thinks.

She’s sure her lipstick is all smudged now – it’s smudged across Jughead’s face for one thing – and Jughead’s hair’s a mess and this wasn’t quite how she wanted to present this – they’re – proposal. But . . .

“Jughead . . . uh, what are you doing in my . . . _holy shit, Betty?_!”

Her face burns hot and Jughead is likewise blushing and shifting uncomfortably beside her and she remembers this whole thing was her brilliant plan, so she better say something. Something sexy and seductive like, _‘hey big boy, want to join us?’_ or . . . something. Only that sounds stupid in her head and she can’t remember any of the lines she thought of before and . . .

“Man, I didn’t know you two were together!”

Jughead clears his throat. “Uh, Arch, we just . . .”

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Archie says. “I know how strict your parents are, Betty. If you two need a place to sneak off to I’m happy to help. Just let me know next time, okay?” he laughs, shaking his head. “I heard voices down here and thought we were being robbed! I almost called the cops.”

She swallows. “Archie, we –”

“It’s cool, guys!” he says. “Don’t worry about it. Hey! I’ll go for a run and give you two some privacy, ‘kay? Have fun!” He winks, making for the door and grabbing his sneakers on the way out. He takes off before they can stop him. 

Beside her, Jughead starts laughing and Betty flops back on the couch, yanking off the stupid wig and letting it drop to the floor, where it lies looking like a dead animal.

“Oh . . . _God_ , Juggie.” She’s still blushing and wants to bury her face in her hands, but Jughead pulls her against him and runs a hand through her real hair.

“It’s okay, Bets,” he tells her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Look at it this way, Archie didn’t _reject_ us . . . he’s just a bit . . . oblivious. A true friend though, huh? Holy shit.” 

He starts laughing again and Betty can’t help but join in.

_Next time,_ she thinks.


	3. Chapter 3

Jughead finally “moves in” to the abandoned janitor’s closet beneath the stairs at the high school, but he’s still not exactly sleeping easy down there. He’s always half-awake, paranoid that someone will decide to use the old storage space, or look for spare cleaning supplies, or something. When he does sleep, in brief snatches, his dreams are-

Well, nightmares.

All the time.

Sure, sometimes they start out bright and colorful, with Betty and Archie sitting by his side. Archie leans over and puts a warm hand over his, splays their fingers together. His heart skips a beat, even in a dream. Archie’s eyes meet his and they’re dancing. His lips quirking into a shy smile. On his other side is Betty, and she leans over, resting her head casually against his shoulder so her thick golden curls brush his neck. For a split-second he gets to think how lucky he is.

They’re sitting around a long table with their folks, but nobody seems to mind the fact that Jughead, Archie and Betty are all obviously together. Archie dips his head closer and kisses him. Betty rubs his shoulder, smiles and says something cheerful to her mother, who in the dream somehow approves of all of this.

Betty’s parents, Archie’s parents – they’re chatting and laughing. He can’t hear what they’re saying, but it’s okay. They’re one big happy family and everyone – even Jughead – belongs.

Now, this doesn’t sound like a nightmare, except for the growing feeling of dread, sick tendrils unwinding in his stomach that scream _he knows this much happiness must be an illusion_ and he knows it can’t last. There is a monster with cold hands and sickening breath shadowing his back, just waiting to reach out and strangle him.

In the dream, Jughead’s dad starts drinking and yelling, screaming at the other parents. His yelling gets so loud that it makes Fred Andrews and the Coopers turn into dust and break apart, shattering into globules of dirt that spill across the floor. Suddenly everything is dirty, the house is growing smaller, turning into a trailer and old beer bottles and cans roll out of the corners in growing heaps like a tide of garbage rolling in.

His dad’s raving words that aren’t even _words_ , just nightmare gibberish but in the dream it’s spells, or something, something evil that causes the house to shake and shrink, makes the windows burst outwards in cracking blasts.

Betty and Archie look at him with pity, at the same time backing away.

_“You aren’t good enough for me, Jughead,”_ Betty whispers and her words make huge spidery cracks appear in the ceiling. _"You aren't good enough and you never were."_

FP, his dad, towers above them, spittle flying from his lips, eyes bugging out farther-and-farther, red-rimmed and bloodshot. FP fills the room, turning over tables and striking the walls, causing the house to shake and crack. It’s going to come down on them. Jughead and his friends are forced into the corner, where a door magically appears.

In the way of dreams, it’s very clear that only _two_ of them can go through this door. It’s a rule about doors in this universe, or something, and Jughead won’t even question it until he wakes up. He just _knows_ in the moment, that only _two_ people can pass through a door and someone has to stay behind with the screaming monster his dad has become.   

Archie puts an arm around Betty’s shoulders protectively, pulling her against his chest – and sometimes Archie’s wearing his football jacket, and sometimes he’s dressed like a clean-cut 1950s caricature in a pressed sweater-vest and bowtie, and sometimes he’s dressed like James Bond, or even a medieval knight - but he always puts his arms around Betty and he always looks at Jughead with the same cold, disgusted eyes that cut worse than anything else in the nightmare.

_“You don’t deserve her, Jug,”_ or, _“You thought you could be with us?!”_ or, _“Don’t touch us.”_

Whatever variation, it feels like getting his heart ripped out, his lungs crushed. He can’t breathe, he can’t even scream or call after them. Betty and Archie disappear through that door, escaping into wholesome 1950s America, or Camelot, or Nirvana. Whatever bright slice of garden and blue sky he glimpses as that dream-portal slams shut in his face and his dad’s hands – now swollen to the size of the walls – come reaching out to crush him.

 

Jughead always wakes from these nightmares sweaty and disoriented and almost nauseas. Then he looks around at his surroundings – his life accumulated to a junk heap in the school basement, wedged between boxes of toilet paper and old paint and a frantic feeling takes over, screaming in his head that it’s all true. That if Betty and Archie ever see his life, his dad, all of it, they will react exactly as they do in the dream. With pity and a little fear. With, ultimately disgust, because they’re perfect. They’re normal, clean-cut, and they’ve got ‘Meant to Be’ written over them in fifty-foot flashing neon-letters.

And Jughead’s got a stolen closet and an alcoholic dad and a brief window with Betty where she appreciates his support and doesn’t realize how fucked up it would be to actually be with him. 

 So yeah, the nights aren’t great.

Is it any wonder, then, that he can’t really concentrate in class? It’s gotten to point where he’s stopped trying, really. There doesn’t seem to be any point and if he can’t have good dreams at night, at least he can have them during the day, with the professors droning on about shit nobody cares about and the sun warming him as it spills in through the large windows, across the desks.

So he daydreams, and about what else but his two favourite people?

Sometimes he pretends they’re superheroes, or secret agents, but he’s been binge-watching _Game of Thrones_ on his laptop when he’s too tired to write and too stressed to sleep, so today he finds himself mentally recasting the show with his favourite blonde . . .

  

_Betty Stormborn is the Breaker of Chains and the Mother of Dragons. Empires trembled to hear her name. Her long blonde hair tumbles loose over shoulders and even though she’s a queen, that golden storm of hair is the only crown she needs._

_Her loyal warriors salute as she strides by, discussing strategy with her trusted military advisor, Jughead. “My queen,” he tells her, “The village of Riverdale is barely a smudge on the map. Your army should be turned to the capital and the throne, your birthright.”_

_She smiles at him, the wind whipping back the cape draped regally over her shoulders. “Thank you for your council, Jughead. But as you well know, my sister, Lady Polly, is being held captive in Riverdale by the evil witches in the ironically named Tower of Mercy and I must rescue her."_

_Of course, as fierce and feared throughout the land as she is, Queen Betty would never abandon someone she loves – it’s another reason Jughead is completely smitten with her. “But if we approach with your entire army, not to mention the dragons, the witches might panic and hide Polly where we’ll never find her.”_

_Betty gives a royal nod of her head. “Good thinking. You must go and find me the bravest, most pure-hearted knight in all the land for this quest.”_

_Knights? He’s not sure – knights tend to be assholes when you get to know them, loud-mouthed and empty-headed jerks who think they can push everyone else around._

_“Please, Juggie,” Betty squeezes his arm and kisses his cheek. Of course, Jughead would do anything for his queen._

_He sets out on a quest to discover the one knight in all the realms good enough for Queen Betty. He tries the local tavern, but runs afoul of Reggie Evilheart and his gang of moronic henchmen._

 

A few weeks earlier, Archie defended Jughead against Reggie in the student lounge, even though they weren’t even technically _friends_ at that point, and Jughead would be lying if he said it didn’t make him swoon, just a little, to think about, even now.

The event frequently works itself back into his daydreams, which is maybe a bit desperate. It’s perhaps a cheesy thing to obsess over, he knows, but, for one moment he had someone defending him, someone willing to go to blows for him. And that felt indescribable.

Besides, they’re just _daydreams_ , right? No one will ever know.

So, while Professor Flutesnoot drones on and on, writing formulas across the blackboard that Betty is no doubt studiously copying down beside him (and he can copy her notes later, when he’s not feeling so tired, alright?) Jughead slips back to fantasy-land, where Reggie Evilheart is advancing on him, drawing a menacing iron sword.

 

_Sir Archie materializes, blocking the attack with his shield. He’s dressed in armor that Jughead suspects real Archie would also be able to wear now, with his new physique. Archie draws his sword and soon he and Reggie are engaged in an epic battle – thrusting and blocking, parrying and riposting._

_A tavern wench leans over and says, “you’re so lucky – to have Sir Archie defend your honor!”_

 

That’s a line so cheesy it makes Jughead snort in real life and he’s embarrassed to have thought of it. Betty pauses in her note-taking to glance over at him.

“Hey,” she whispers.

“Sorry,” he mouths, shaking his head slightly at her.

“You’re not taking notes. Everything okay?”

“Fine,” he whispers back. “Just a little tired today.” He rubs his eyes and she winces in sympathy.

Betty studies his face for a moment. After a second, she rips off a piece of her notepaper and writes: _you’ve been smiling over there! What R U thinking about??_

He blushes before he can help it – not that they’re even been dirty daydreams, but it’s still pretty embarrassing.

Naturally, she takes this the wrong way.

_OMG_! writes Betty, but she’s biting her lip and smiling at him. She’s got that Betty Cooper twinkle in her eye.

_I want to know – what is UR fantasy?_ _Tell me!_

Jughead pushes the paper back to her, not writing anything on it. She pouts, but Jughead ignores her.

He really _is_ tired, so he pillows his head on his arms, hoping Flutesnoot won’t notice. The chalk continues to click and scratch against the board, the lecture continues. Jughead relaxes . . . going back to his daydream.

 

_Sir Archie has defeated Reggie, and now stands before him in his armor, dripping with a sheen of sweat that makes his short, ginger hair damp. Jughead reaches up to touch it and Archie takes his hand._

_“I am Sir Archie, defender of the innocent,” he says. “I’ve never seen you in this tavern before.”_

_“I’m Jughead,” he says, and before he can explain about his quest, Archie is kissing him, crushing him against the polished steel of his chest plate. His hands are in Jughead’s hair tugging him – pulling him closer. They kiss so hard their teeth clack together. That would probably be painful in real-life, but never mind. In the daydream, Archie is kissing him hungrily and running his hands through his hair._

_“I’m sorry, I’ve never felt this way about anyone before,” says Archie. “Let me go with you on your quest – we’ll have all sorts of adventures and I certainly won’t abandon you to shag an old lady or anything.”_

Alright, it’s not exactly the smoothest dialogue Jughead’s ever come up with, but it makes him happy. He smiles a little into the crook his arms, hiding his eyes from the harsh fluorescent lights of the classroom. Mr. Flutesnoot’s voice is so far away now he can barely hear it.

He’s not sure at what point he actually falls asleep – but the next thing he knows, Betty is shaking his shoulder gently, the bell’s ringing, and his cheek is sticky because he’s been resting it in a puddle of drool (gross.) He blinks at her, embarrassed, quickly wiping his face with his sleeve. “Shit! Shit, sorry, Betty –”

“It’s okay,” she laughs, probably just thinking his tiredness is usual teenage boy laziness, for which he’s grateful. He shakes off the pull of sleep and stands. “I _do_ want to hear about your fantasy though.” She nudges his shoulder playfully.

“It was just a daydream,” he says, but he can’t help the way the corners of his mouth pull up a little as she stands next to him, touching him in little, subtle ways – their shoulders bumping, their knuckles brushing together. He thinks, again, _I don’t deserve her._

 “You can tell me,” she says.

“Later,” he promises, sliding their hands together as they step out into the hall. Maybe she’ll get a laugh out of it, he thinks, and hopes that at least he might be able to take her mind off Polly. He knows how worried she is about her sister’s disappearance, and he doesn’t blame her. He squeezes her hand slightly as they walk and is relieved when she squeezes back.

 

~*~

 

That night, Jughead sneaks into Betty’s bedroom again. He’s just thanking his lucky stars that her terrifying mother hasn’t caught on yet – though maybe with one daughter missing they have more important things to worry about.

Betty pulls him through her window and into her arms and he rubs her back, kissing the side of her face, the corner of her eyelid. “I’m sorry about Polly,” he whispers. “Anyone find anything yet?”

“No,” she says quietly and presses her lips together tightly. He thinks she might be about to cry, but then she shakes her head, takes his hand and leading him over to the bed.

They end up just lying on her bed together, fully dressed, their arms wrapped around each other in the dark, and it feels like exactly right. It’s what they both need in the moment. Betty’s head is lying against his chest and he’s leaning back on her mountain of pillows, sinking into the ridiculous comfort of her feather bed, slowly feeling the tension leech out of his body.

After what feels like hours she says, “so you never did tell me about . . .”

“It’s stupid,” he warns her.

“Yeah, it’s a daydream,” she pauses, one hand on his chest, looking up at him. “It’s okay, I won’t be mad if you tell me you were thinking about some celebrity or something.”

“I don’t think about celebrities that way,” he frowns into the darkness of the bedroom. “I told you I have to . . . to _know_ the person. Like _really_ know them. And anyway it wasn’t even a . . . it wasn’t like that.”

Betty relaxes, snuggling into him and the moment is so perfect it makes his chest ache. The bed is so comfortable, and Betty is so warm, and the tiredness just tugs and tugs at him like long, dark fingers dragging through his mind and pulling his eyes shut.

He yawns and begins telling her about his silly idea to have them cast as characters in _Game of Thrones_. She laughs at the image of herself as Daenerys, but seems genuinely pleased by it, wiggling happily against him.

Eyes still shut he slowly tells her about how Archie is a handsome knight in this universe, and he recounts Sir Archie’s battle with the evil Reggie and . . .

His voice chokes a little in embarrassment, but he finally spits out his fantasy of kissing Archie. He knows Betty already knows he _likes_ him, but it’s still hard to actually put into words for some reason. 

She gathers up his hand where it lies between them and softly kisses his fingers. “. . . I like that,” she says finally and he feels himself relax again. “It’s sweet. So what happens next?”

“Hmm . . . I guess I take him back to you, so he can be your knight.”

“ _Our_ knight, Juggie.”

He’s silent for too long after that and Betty prods him. “Hey, _our_ knight, okay?”

“Yeah . . .” Jughead takes a deep, shuddering breath. “It’s just . . . I can’t help thinking . . . that would never actually happen, right?”

He feels Betty tense and warning sirens go off inside his head. He should quit now, just shut up, but he can’t help it, all the nightmares and the worry and the ever-present dread come crawling up his throat.

“The knight and the queen would get together, alright? And I’d be like a court jester, or something. It’s the football player and the cheerleader, Betty, not the football player, the cheerleader and their creepy friend!”

“You’re not creepy, Jughead!” she says, voice rising. “And what the Hell?! We’ve _talked_ about this! I thought you were on board with the plan!”

“Look, it’s a great dream, Bets. Real edgy and cool. But it’s like pretending we’re superheroes, or pirates, or knights - it’s not going to happen! In the real world, this ends with me losing _both_ of you! Think I don’t know that? Think I’m stupid?!”

“Damn it, Jughead, you’re ruining everything!” she sits up, jerking away from him, angry now, and lunges for the light switch. The bedroom is flooded with light so suddenly it momentarily blinds him and he doesn’t have time to reach up and hide the fact that somewhere in their conversation he started crying.

He hears Betty’s shaky breath and suddenly she’s taking his hand again. “Oh, Juggie – Juggie, I’m _sorry_ ,” she says.

She tries to get closer to him again, but he pushes himself up. He forces himself to move now, because if he doesn’t he’ll never be able to. And he can’t stay. Her parents may not be at their most vigilante, but if he passes out in her bed and they find him there he’s pretty sure it’s his body they’ll be dragging out of the river next.

“I’m just so tired,” he says, forcing his shaking body to stumble off the bed. “I just – I need –”

“Jughead, what’s going on?” she says, very softly. “Something . . .” she swallows. “Something’s going on with you, isn’t it? Something bad?” 

He can’t look at Betty’s face right now, or he’ll break and tell her everything and he can’t stand the thought of her knowing – knowing about him living in the school, about his dad, about how grossly fucked up every single God damn thing in his life is right now.

“It’s fine . . . I just need . . . I’ll see you at school tomorrow, okay?”

He doesn’t wait for her response before he high tails it out the window. It’s a minor miracle he doesn’t kill himself on the way down the ladder in the dark, half asleep and blinking back what feels like a fucking avalanche of tears.

 

~*~ 

 

That night, sleeping in the school, he has his usual variation on the nightmares. When he wakes up he feels sick and stumbles blearily to the school showers, desperate to wash off the feeling of hopelessness that’s sticking right to his bones.

He’s thinking of Archie and Betty and Archie _and_ Betty, and the nightmares, the daydreams are all swirling around inside his head banging away at his skull, when Archie’s face materializes like a ghost in the bathroom mirror behind him.

Jughead nearly jumps out of his skin.

“Hey, Juggie,” says Archie, concern warring with amusement and confusion on his face. “What are you doing here?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for 1x07.

So it all comes out about Jughead being homeless. About living in the drive-in, then the school. He can hardly look Archie in the eyes, but Archie just keeps moving closer, reaching for him. Jughead flinches away. This is what he wants, but not what he wants. This is a mess of everything. The thoughts start swirling up in his head and he wants to run, but it’s no use – there’s nowhere left to run to. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” asks Archie. “Why didn’t you come to me? Jughead, you should be staying with me!”

For a moment, Jughead wants to cry – or scream – _why weren’t you paying attention, then? If you want to fix everything?_

And he knows – he _knows_ \- he said he was over it and he’s trying, really, but this is something Archie can’t fix and on top of everything – FP’s drinking, his mom leaving with Jellybean, his worry that Betty doesn’t even really love him, the drive-in closing, Betty’s sister vanishing . . . He can hardly _think_ with all the thoughts screaming around in his head.

“Look, this is _temporary_ –” he takes a deep breath. He doesn’t want to get into this with Archie, because “this” is a bottomless fucking abyss and Archie, no matter how good a Samaritan he is, can’t fix it. So in the end all he says is, “please don’t tell Betty.”

Archie blushes, apparently remembering his encounter with the two of them making out on his couch a few nights back, and stammers. “N- no, o-of course not, Jug. I wouldn’t do that.”

And that should have been the end of it, but of course it’s not. Of course Archie follows Jughead through the school, sticking close for the first time in too long. It makes something in Jughead’s heart twist and he wishes more than anything that this was something besides Archie’s patent “good guy” nature, worrying about a down-on-his-luck pal. _You don’t even know the half of it, Andrews_ , he wants to say, but that’s too bitter. It’s better to say nothing at all.

“I won’t tell Betty, but you can’t keep living here, like this. It’s not -”

“What? Normal?”

“ _Safe_ ,” Archie sighs, running a hand worriedly through his short hair. And he really does look worried for Jughead, which is . . . something.

Jughead swallows, looking away. _Can’t think about that, or your stupid fantasies, right now,_ he tells himself sternly.

After a few seconds he summons a flippant reply. “I don’t know, the cleaning staff are pretty oblivious and living under the stairs has a certain Harry Potter-esque charm to it.” 

“Don’t joke about this,” Archie says, with something like despair in his voice and he grabs Jughead’s arm so tightly he freezes, the shock of the contact silencing him. “ _Please_ , Jughead you need help-”

“Oh please. And you want to come riding in on a white horse and sweep me off my feet?” he asks sarcastically, trying to ignore how weirdly close the words line up to his recent fantasies and how that hurts. 

Archie is silenced for a moment, brow furrowed in a way that Jughead would have once found adorable, but is now working towards exasperating. “Don’t strain yourself,” he says, “I don’t _need_ rescuing. All I _need_ is for my old man to get his act together. Which . . . which he will.” A necessary fiction. “So don’t worry about it.”

“But I can’t . . . not worry, Juggie. I mean . . . it's _you_.”

He shakes his head. If this keeps going on he might actually start crying. So he tries to walk away, again, but Archie runs after him, again, tapping instead of grabbing his arm this time.

“Well, I’ll talk to my dad. Maybe he’ll give your dad his old job back. That would help, right?” 

Jughead tries to gaze at Archie without being super obvious he’s doing it. Stupid, perfect, lovable Archie.

_He hurt you,_ he warns himself. _He’ll hurt you again._

_Betty will too, sooner or later._

_Everyone leaves. That’s your end game, right?_  

Just once he wishes his traitor brain would shut the hell up.

Jughead swallows. “Maybe. I mean . . . yeah. Yeah, that would help.”

 

~*~

 

Then there’s a lot that doesn’t bear thinking about, at least not on repeat.

Being in the police station – he doesn’t want to think about how genuinely terrifying that experience was, about how he was _scared_ , _really scared,_ feeling the coldness move and crawl through his gut while Sheriff Keller sat in front of him, trying to pin a murder charge on him. The thing is he can sort of see where the sheriff is coming from – because the police aren’t finding the real killer, and the town’s wealthiest family is breathing down their necks, and he’s just some fucking weird loner and his dad . . . and his dad . . .

_And, okay, stop. Stop, Jughead,_ he tells himself. His heart’s beating faster, if he keeps thinking along these lines he’s going to have a fucking panic attack. Sitting here, in Archie’s bedroom. In Archie’s bed, while the redhead has gone to find spare blankets for the air mattress.

The thing is, Sherriff Keller _knows_ him and Principal Weatherbee _knows_ him, and Jughead’s not – _he thought it was fairly obvious_ – a killer. Okay, so he’s not the most social person, and when he was a kid he used to play with matches, but SO WHAT? The fact that they want to hang this on him hurts worse than being bullied by Reggie and the other assholes on the football team. It’s like confirmation that there really is something wrong with him. Like it’s all been decided that his life’s trajectory is going to match his old man’s.

That means one day Archie and Betty will get sick of him, just like Fred got sick of bailing out FP. 

FP who, of course, couldn’t be bothered to show up until after Archie’s dad took care of things. FP, who almost made everything a million times worse by threatening to go beat the crap out of the town sheriff. And his breath stank, but let’s not think about that either, alright? 

_Betty was there,_ he reminds himself. _Betty was there,_ and he feels again the magnetic warmth of her fingers against his on that cold table.

And _Archie was there_ , telling him to come home with him _again_ , all worry and sincerity in his eyes.

_Betty and Archie were there._

When he thinks of those two . . . the feeling is so big it hurts his chest. He wishes the three of them could run away somewhere. Maybe that will be his new fantasy. The three of them ditch Riverdale, like Jason and Polly were planning, and start a new life on a farm somewhere, or a cottage deep in the woods, or an apartment in the big city. Whatever, as long as he has them.

Archie comes back into the bedroom, arms full of blankets, and he keeps giving Jughead these little worried looks when he thinks Jughead’s not watching. “You know you can stay here for as long as . . . forever, right?”

Jughead stares hard at the far wall. His body’s curled around Archie’s guitar, not that he can play, but it’s something to keep his hands busy, to distract him. “My dad will get better,” he says, but the words sound hollow, even in his own head. 

Archie, who is too sweet to object, but too honest to agree, can only make a soft, noncommittal noise in response, spreading out the blankets for him.

Jughead takes a moment to watch him. He’s sitting on Archie’s bed, in Archie’s room. _Betty_ , he thinks with momentary amusement, _if only you were here._

She will be _so pissed_ if he doesn’t take the opportunity to make a move on their favourite redhead. But he’s so tired. He feels so heavy. He just wants to curl up and shut his eyes and disappear.   

He thinks of how he and Betty lay together on her bed last night and wishes he could ask Archie for the same thing, but secretly bisexual or not, he thinks that would probably weird his friend out a little. Still, he doesn’t move from his spot on the bed, even with the air mattress filled and made up. He huddles nearer the wall when Archie finally sits down next to him.

Archie doesn't tell him to move. Instead, Archie just looks at him and Jughead works very hard at not looking at Archie.

“And how about you?” Archie asks. “Are you . . . okay?”

He shakes his head. There’s no answering that. 

Archie sighs. “Look, I know we haven’t been . . . I know things between us have been . . . weird lately. Since this summer. I know it was my fault!” he adds quickly, when Jughead finally does look at him with the express purpose of lifting an eyebrow. “I know I was a jerk. But, still, Jughead, you could have told me. You should have told me. Or Betty, you know . . . since you and her are . . . uh.” And Archie blushes, which makes Jughead roll his eyes because he’s hardly innocent at this point, everyone knows about him and Grundy. 

“The point is . . . you should have told someone,” Archie finishes quietly.   
  
Jughead hums. He wants to crawl into Archie’s arms. Instead he thrusts the guitar at him. “So play me one of your famous sappy songs, already. I keep hearing about them.”

Archie frowns, but turns the guitar around to hold it properly. “I’m just worried about you, is all . . .” he says softly, picking out a few chords. Jughead wraps his arms around himself, trying to establish a distance that really isn’t there and he doesn’t even want.

“Do you seriously want to hear me play? It’s not really your kind of thing.”

“Yes,” he says, shutting his eyes and settling back against the pillows.

Archie is still silent, and Jughead can feel his eyes on him which is both wonderful and horrible and he really wishes Betty were here. She could probably tell them what to do.

“Please, Arch. I want to hear it. Really.”

 “. . . alright.” Archie strums the guitar and Jughead lets the music wash over him. His voice is nice and soothing, which Jughead already knew, but hearing it like this is almost too beautiful and he lets it carry him along, away, out of his body.  

 

~*~  


He wakes up to find that Archie has taken the air mattress.

“You could have woken me up,” he says, propping himself up on his elbow to look down at his friend.

Archie blinks his eyes open, looks up at him and offers a sleepy half-smile. “You looked comfortable. And it’s cool. It doesn’t make any difference to me.”

They get up for breakfast and it’s actually really nice to be doing this in a house for a change – a warm shower, a hot breakfast, clean clothes. And Archie keeps looking at him intently and saying things like, “you’re coming _back_ tonight, right?” and “You’re _staying_ , right?” with an intensity that even has Mr. Andrews looking at them funny from across the kitchen. He doesn’t say anything, though, except to echo his son’s offers in a slightly less intense mode.

If Jughead hesitates or says something about his dad needing him, Archie gets this look of despair so profound it should be deemed emotional blackmail. It’s not so much a kicked-puppy look as a all-my-puppies-are-getting-flattened-by-a-steamroller-while-I-watch look. Finally, Jughead gives up and starts to agree out of a sheer need to keep his sanity.

Archie looks relieved and his smile is stupidly contagious.

 

~*~

 

“ _You slept in his bed?!”_ Betty asks – or basically squeals so loudly Jughead cringes as people turn towards them in the hall. She grabs his arm, pulling him into an empty classroom. Her eyes are all lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. “Tell me! Tell me! Tell me! Tell me!”

“Uh . . . there’s nothing to tell,” he says, trying to extricate himself from what has become a death-grip.

Betty frowns in disappointment, rocking on her heels.

“I slept. He took the floor.”

She sighs dreamily. “Of course he did. That’s so Archie. Always the gentlemen.” 

“Hey, we’re both gentlemen.”

“Of course, of course,” she says dismissively. “But Jughead, this makes our plan so much more . . .”

“Possible?”

She nods, chewing on her lower lip and begins playing with the end of her ponytail.

“Might I remind you that last time we were also in his house and Archie was uh . . . immune to our charms?”

Betty hits his arm playfully. “Don’t be a jerk!”

“Ow. I wasn’t. Only . . . okay, this whole seduction thing really isn’t my area of expertise. So . . .?” he shrugs helplessly. “Ideas?”

Betty looks at him then and he can see the evil grin slowly start to spread across her face and a downright maniacal glint come into her eyes. “. . . how do you feel about costume parties?”

 “Not . . . really a fan of parties in general, actually. Except the free food, of course.”

Betty shakes her head at him. “Well in this case just think of the party as an elaborate trap, okay?”

“And the costumes are for . . .?”

But she’s already turning away, bouncing with excitement. “Come on!” she says, grabbing his hand and pulling in the direction of the drama department. “Oh, this is going to be good!”

He wonders what he's gotten himself into, but its not like he wants to stop. Betty's hand is warm, her fingers threaded through his, and her smile when she glances back, over her shoulder at him, is a dazzling thing to behold. And when he's running through the school hallway with her in the midst of some insane plan, he doesn't have to think about FP, or the sheriff, or anything at all.


	5. Chapter 5

Betty has this vision in her head of the three of them together.

_Betty, Jughead, Archie._

Together.

She hasn’t thought through all the details, the mechanics of it, exactly. But she can’t let the idea fade, it’s too beautiful. She sees them safe in one another’s arms. Warm and loved.

She doesn’t let herself think that maybe it’s too beautiful to be possible, in this world of jealousy and judgement. Except for when she does, when she hears her mother’s voice nagging in the back of her skull no matter how badly she wants to carve it out. Betty can’t imagine what her mother would say or do – probably exile her, lock her up, like she did Polly.

_Oh, Alice Cooper, you’re going to run out of daughters._

That night Betty dreams that she’s inherited a huge gothic mansion. The house is a gift from an aunt she’s never heard about – as far as dreams go, it’s not even that unrealistic, given her mother’s penchant for secrets and lies. Best of all, her mother isn’t allowed to come with her, it says so right in the will. The manor is all for Betty – it’s not like anyplace she would have previously imagined herself living, all dark peaking roofs on towers and turrets. But she loves it the second she sees it, the architectural embodiment of _Full-Dark-No-Stars Betty._ It’s the black wig and lingerie and anything might happen.

The manor looms on a cliff overlooking the sea. Iron-grey waves roll and crash into a private cove far below, while she strolls around a wraparound porch. Betty comes to a wooden bench, where Jughead is sitting, and in the dream she’s not surprised to see him there. He’s resting with his elbows on his knees, peering out at the sea. He barely glances at her, but his lips curve into that small smile he gives her.

She sits next to him. “You came.”

Jughead shrugs, but his smile widens a little. Betty reaches for his hand and after a second he lets their fingers curl together. He rubs the side of her thumb gently. “I could never abandon you, Betts. It would be like cutting off my own legs.”

“And . . . Archie . . . ?”

Jughead nods, turning so their foreheads brush. He turns her hand over in his own, tracing the lines of her palm with his fingers. “Oh, yeah . . . you couldn’t keep him away.”

A wash of relief runs through her. She exhales shakily.

“I should warn you, though, he thinks the old place is haunted.”

“Well, maybe it is . . .” Betty smiles though, because the idea of ghosts doesn’t bother her. Nothing bothers her now. She’s here with her boys, out of the reach of her parents, Jughead’s father, or anyone else. Maybe they’ll invite Archie’s dad up for the holidays. And Jughead’s sister can visit whenever she wants, of course. But otherwise it will just be them, free and grown up and able to do whatever they want.

“Maybe I’ll set my next novel in a place like this,” says Jughead, standing and pulling her with him.

They explore the house for a bit, its narrow halls and root cellars, laundry chutes and fireplaces, antique furniture covered in white blankets like shrouds. Everything is covered in a thick inch of dust. Betty wipes some of it off with her fingers, grimacing. “Wouldn’t one of us have to die, then?” 

“Maybe I don’t want to be pigeon-holed as a mystery writer,” he replies with a wry smile. “Maybe I’ll switch to gothic romances.”

She makes a face and laughs as he pulls her into a hug.

“A scandalous, shocking _menage a trois_ . . .”

“. . . with ghosts.”

“Those, too.”

“Do they join in?” a voice asks from across the room. 

Betty turns to see Archie standing in the doorway, a goofy grin on his face. Jughead groans and rolls his eyes. “Is your mind always in the gutter?”

“Hey, you were the ones talking about a _menage a trois_ with ghosts,” the redhead replies, laughing.

Betty squeezes Jughead’s arms quickly, before running to meet Archie. She pulls him into an embrace, as Jughead drawls: “yeah, but then we’d have to kill you, and I just told Betty I’m not writing another mystery.”

Archie smiles as Jughead slowly comes to join them. Archie pulls him into their embrace, and the three of them snuggle into each other’s arms. Betty smiles into Archie’s shoulder, as Jughead’s arm curls around her waist. Archie kisses her, then Jughead.

“So this is the place, huh?” he says, looking up at the high ceilings and cobwebs. “It’s so weird that you live here now.”

“ _We_ live here now,” she corrects him.

“You know, this means we can do whatever we want,” Jughead says slowly, eyeing them.

“All the time,” Archie agrees, nodding.

Betty smiles, biting her lip. “Again and again.” 

They’re dancing around the old place then, and everything spins and swirls and melts together . . .

Betty wakes up when her alarm goes off and nearly screams, slamming the snooze button on her phone. She squeezes her eyes shut again, pressing her face into her pillow to muffle her groan. She wants to go back to sleep. She wants to find her way back to the universe of that dream!

That dream felt so real . . . she _swears_ she tasted Archie’s lips and felt the warmth of Jughead’s hand.

Sighing, Betty sits up, reaching automatically for her diary. It was such an amazing dream she just _has_ to write it down before she loses it.

_If only, if only . . ._ she thinks, scribbling down the details of the gothic house, the boys, all of it.

Betty writes and writes, until she’s filled up four pages in her diary and then sits back, nestling against her pillows and looks at what she’s written. Jughead’s not the _only_ one who wants to be a writer, after all. Maybe she could turn this into some kind of story. But, she blushes, what if the boys read it?

What if her _parents_ read it?

She takes extra care to hide her diary that morning.

 

#

   

That afternoon at school, Betty is rifling through the costumes in the drama room, the morning’s dream mostly forgotten. Jughead is living with Archie now, which she likes – she likes the idea of both her boys being together, in the same place, and even better if that place is right next door. And of course, Jughead needs to be somewhere safe.

She hates that he didn’t think he could come to _her_ and tell her about what he was going through, but . . .

Rather than think about _that_ , they need another plan to seduce Archie, right? The past, the present – they’re nuts, okay? They need to work on making sure the future is amazing enough to make up for it. And since Jughead’s admitted that seduction isn’t really his wheelhouse, that means Betty just has to up her game, right?

Luckily, crazy schemes are kind of her thing now.

So.

She’s sorting costumes and Jughead’s patiently watching, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. “. . . so . . . are you going to let me in on the plan?”

“Well . . . Archie’s kind of a manwhore, isn’t he?”

Jughead raises his eyebrows. Whether he disagrees, or is just surprised to hear her use the term, Betty can’t tell.

“Come on, Juggie, he ogles everything that moves. Well. Except _me_ ,” she tries to say it lightheartedly, but fails. The words catch in her throat and burn her lips. 

“Hey . . .” Jughead pushes off from the wall, walks to her side and catches her arms, keeping her from yanking down more costumes. He pulls her into a hug, rubbing her back. “He’s just kind of an idiot.”

Betty sniffles. “Yeah. I love him, but . . .”

“Yeah." 

“So, why not use it to our advantage?” Betty asks. “If it’s a costume party, we can dress in sexy costumes that hide who we are, and . . .”

“Isn’t that kind of . . . I don’t know, rapey?”

Betty blinks at him.

“I mean tricking someone into . . . when they don’t know it’s you . . . isn’t that, like . . . not okay?” he looks uncomfortable and Betty finds it both really sweet and really frustrating.

“God, Juggie, I’m just talking about _making out_ a little. We’ll kiss him a couple times, then we’ll reveal who we are before it goes any further.”

“Okay . . .” Jughead says, still seeming uncertain.

Betty’s acting on instinct and impulse here, but if the devil-incarnate _Cheryl Blossom_ can force strangers into the closet for make-out sessions at _her_ parties, why can’t she and Jughead have a little fun of their own?

“. . . there’s also the fact Archie hates costume parties,” says Jughead under his breath and really fast.

Betty’s head snaps up again. “What?” she laughs nervously. “No, he doesn’t. No one . . . no one hates costume parties, Jughead. They’re fun. And it’s almost Halloween . . .”

Jughead snorts, shaking his head.

Betty throws the dress she was holding down. It pools on the ground at their feet. “Okay, _what_?”

“Do you seriously not remember . . .?" 

Her brow crinkles for a second, until finally it hits her. Archie hates Halloween. When they were in second grade, he was so terrified of an older kid wearing a werewolf mask that he screamed. Reggie made fun of him for years. How could she have forgotten?

“Well . . . it’s fine,” she says. “No one will come dressed as canids, okay? We’ll . . . post a sign or something.”

Jughead’s lips twitch. “He’ll love that.”

“Look, as long as _we’re_ not the werewolves, alright?”

Jughead laughs.

It’s the first time she’s seen Jughead laugh in a while and Betty stops. She stops sorting costumes and fretting and planning.

It hits her suddenly - how scared he looked in the police station, how his hands were shaking. She told him they didn’t have any good evidence, and she would never let anyone hurt him, besides . . . but, yeah, it was bad. 

And _she_ dragged him into it. _She_ dragged him out to Polly and Jason’s getaway car. It was her fault his prints were there, and that made Sherriff Keller notice he had a record, and . . .

“Hey, what’s wrong? Betts?”

“N – nothing,” she stammers, turning back to the clothing rack, though her heart’s no longer in it. “I just . . .” she looks back at him. “I’m sorry, Jughead. For everything. It’s my fault you’re in trouble with the police.”

“No, it isn’t,” a dark look crosses his face. He picks the last dress up from where it fell, not looking at her. “Let’s not talk about it, okay? Are you going to wear this? What do you think I should dress as?”

“But . . .”

Jughead shakes his head. “Come on, I want to hear more about this epic masquerade we’re throwing. Does it have a theme?”

Betty swallows. She will take on anyone – _the police, the serpents, the four horsemen of the apocalypse_ – who tries to hurt Juggie again. She messed up bad by not noticing he needed her help before, she is _not_ going to let that happen again.

But she gets that he doesn’t want to talk about it, that he’s counting on her to take his mind off the bad stuff, for today, for right now.

She takes a shaky breath. 

“So . . . Halloween is coming up, right? And the way I see it, it’s the perfect opportunity . . .” she’s just babbling now, barely even listening to herself, but Jughead’s nodding and looking at outfits with her, masks and robes and capes, and it’s nice. For the moment they can pretend.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the time skip, but this just didn't want to be written any other way.

ONE YEAR LATER

 

  

Archie is sitting on the couch, Jughead sprawled out beside him, long legs dangling over the arm, his head leaning against Archie’s shoulder. Betty lies snuggled between them, half in Archie’s lap, but her head is on her arms, on the opposite armrest. There are cartoons flashing across the TV and half-completed homework spread out in a nimbus of textbooks and worksheets all across the floor around them.

“I hope we can stay like this forever,” Betty murmurs sleepily.

Archie strokes her long blonde hair, falling in golden waves over her shoulders. He would lean forwards to kiss her, but he doesn’t want to dislodge Jughead.

He doesn’t want to say what he fears, which is that this is sort of perfect, and perfect things never last – just look at his parents. Also, people don’t . . . _do_ . . . this, not in real life. His dad might shake his head and chuckle when he sees them all snuggled together for movie nights. Fred Andrews always says “oh, let the kids have their fun,” when Betty’s mom complains that it’s weird the way the three of them always seem to do everything together these days.

But.

But what about when they’re not kids anymore? What then?

Jughead pokes him in the side. He grunts.

“Stop it,” says Jughead.

“Stop what?”

“ _Thinking._ You’re thinking so loud I can hear you from here.”

Archie’s brow creases. “I am not.”

“You are. You’re worrying,” Betty says softly, and she’s not even looking at him, her eyes are fixed to the TV screen though, he thinks, not really seeing it. But it’s like she doesn’t even need to see him to know what he’s feeling anymore. Neither does Jughead.

“Oh, for . . . fine, I’m just . . . what Betty said. I want this to last, too.”

Betty sits up and hugs him and Jughead hums against his shoulder, like he can hear the truth in Archie’s words, but also the worries and doubts underneath that truth. He twists around enough so that he can press a quick kiss to Archie’s lips. “You worry too much, Arch. Stop thinking about some hypothetical future.”

Archie smiles softly. Jughead can always make him smile. Always reminds him what’s important. “But . . . I wasted so much time already. I was so oblivious. And now I feel like these moments are . . _.” falling away, falling through my fingers._

He’s written a song recently with words to that effect, but it’s one of the few he doesn’t play for Betty and Jughead. He doesn’t like playing them the sad songs.

Sometimes he just works on the melodies while they’re around, watching them do their own things, watching Jughead work on his novel or Betty come up with articles for the Blue and Gold. Letting them inspire him, effortlessly, just by being themselves. He’ll never stop being thirsty for their presence, and he’s terrified that when this falls apart it might actually destroy him.

“ _Archie_. . .” Betty says, cupping his face in her hands, looking at him seriously. “We’re _always_ going to love you. Right, Juggie?”

“Mmm. Probably,” Jughead says, but he obviously says it jokingly, biting back a grin when Betty’s eyes flash at him. He loops his arm through Archie’s, lacing their fingers together. “Totally. Definitely.”

Betty nods.

“I was such a dimwit. . .”

“No, oh no, baby,” says Betty, kissing him. Her lips tastes like strawberries.

“You were though,” says Jughead. “A total dolt. A huge dork. Utterly, criminally clueless.”

Betty looks like she wants to object, but kind of can’t help smiling at Jughead anyway.

Sometimes Betty and Jughead share these little looks, like they remember the time before, when it was just the two of them. Archie doesn’t feel jealous, or even really left out, by these fleeting glances and small, private smiles. He’s hit by a pang every time, though, of how beautiful and special Jughead and Betty are, how adorable together. Every time he can’t believe his luck that they’ve allowed him to be a part of it, to share in this special, magical thing they have. He still can’t quite believe they want him – clumsy, clueless Archie Andrews.

A year ago, they threw a Halloween party.

Cheryl Blossom, of all people, had allowed them to use Thorn Hill, feeling guilty, maybe, for stealing Betty’s sister Polly away. Archie isn’t really big on costume parties, but Jughead twists his arm, saying how much it means to _Betty_ that he comes – and, okay, in retrospect that should have been a clue, because Betty and Jughead are officially dating, and why should it matter if _Archie_ is there?

But he doesn’t get it.

A gorgeous girl taps him in the shoulder, he can’t see who she is because the top part of her face is completely hidden. Her dress is low-cut, though showing off ample cleavage, and tight in all the right places and Archie is thrilled when she gets him alone in a dark corner and starts making out with him.

The top part of her face is completely obscured behind an elaborate white swan mask that rises into a headdress – a cascade of silvery feathers hiding her hair. She’s so confident and sure of herself. He’s utterly entranced. She nips his lips and licks at his mouth and Archie feels himself wanting to hold onto her forever, to never lose her.

And when he finally, breathlessly, asks who she is, she lifts the beak of the swan to show the sweet angel face of Betty Cooper. Archie is floored and horrified, because he thinks he’s done something really, really wrong.

“Oh my God, Betty! I’m so, so sorry – it’s me, Archie!” he cries, tearing off his own mask. “Did you think I was Jughead? We are about the same height – I’m so sorry –”

He doesn’t stick around to watch her reaction, shoving her away and hightailing it out of there. He can’t stand the idea of hurting either of his best friends.

Then there is the Cooper’s Christmas dinner. Jughead kisses him on the lips in front of all of their assembled families. There is a moment of paralyzing silence where everyone just freezes. Alice - in the middle of setting the table - stares at them with her mouth open in shock and outrage.

Archie stares at Jughead in stunned disbelief, until Jughead calmly points up, to where a piece of mistletoe dangles above the doorframe.

Archie’s dad laughs and claps. Betty dissolves into a fit of giggles and her mother purses her lips and shakes her head, clucking in disapproval for their antics, but it doesn’t ruin Christmas dinner.

And Archie still doesn’t get it.

Then on New Year’s, in Veronica’s glittery suite, all of them get a little tipsy from champagne. Betty grabs Archie as the ball drops. Veronica kisses Josie, and Betty kisses him, instead of Jughead, grabbing his head, her fingers scratching through his short air, digging into his scalp. Her kiss is hungry and vicious and Archie can’t help kissing back, for a moment, before he comes to his senses and pulls away, looking around frantically for Jughead.

He opens his mouth to apologize – _Juggie, man, I am so, so sorry_ – but the words never make it past his lips, because Jughead just grabbed his face and kissed him then, too, as hungry and deep as Betty’s kiss.  

Archie is so stunned that you could knock him over with a feather, but they just grab his arms and drag him away from the rest of the party. They sit him down on the edge of Veronica’s ridiculously huge, puffy feather bed and explain that they both really, _really_ like him a lot, and no, it isn’t the champagne talking. They tell him that they’ve tried to let him know in a million different ways, but eventually came to the conclusion that he just isn’t going to get it unless they spell it out for him.

Archie stares at Betty and Jughead, they seem to glow in the haze of alcohol and moonlight. Sounds of music and celebration drift in from the other room. “Is this . . .” he swallows. “Real?”

“Ah, eloquent as always, Arch,” says Jughead, climbing onto the bed next to him.

Betty says, “yes, really,” and kisses him again. And again.

They gently push him back on the bed.

Looking down at Betty and Jughead in his arms, Archie can’t help but feel like he’s the luckiest man in the world – possibly the universe. He still can’t quite believe it.

 

 

*

 

The next morning, Betty sneaks back over to the Andrews’ household before her parents are up and makes breakfast for all three of them. She hasn’t forgotten her dream of inheriting that gothic manor and, even if it’s not a mansion, she wants one day for the three of them to live together like that, in their own place. Especially so she doesn’t have to get up so early to sneak over.

Today, she’s making breakfast for the three of them. She and Jughead take turns. Archie, bless him, always offers, but after the fifth time he accidentally set the kitchen on fire and almost burned the house down, they decided it would be best if Jughead or Betty did the cooking, Archie the cleaning. Even that sometimes ends in disaster (flooded dishwasher, jammed disposal, and a tally of more broken plates than should be humanly possible) but they love Archie, no matter how much of a klutz he is.

“Hi, Betty, you’re over early,” says Mr. Andrews. He already has his coffee in hand and is on his way out the door to work.

She waves goodbye to him and watches him pull out of the driveway, before she goes back to stirring the batter for pancakes.

At the smell of food, Jughead thumps down the stairs and shuffles into the kitchen, sleepily rubbing his eyes and yawning. He looks adorable with his hair all messy and sticking up from sleep. Betty smiles as he crosses the kitchen and wraps her in a hug, nuzzling her.

“Mmm Betty, bringer of food, supplier of sustenance, I love you so much.”

Jughead’s not big on the whole saying ‘I love you,’ but food will usually get it out of him. She smiles and laughs, gently pushing him away. 

Archie follows, already looking pretty energetic, despite the early hour. He’s shirtless, which Betty approves of, as she casts a slow, appreciative glance across his body.

“Morning Betts,” he says, dipping his head to kiss her cheek. “Are you sure I can’t help with this-”

“No! No, no, no, that’s fine, I’ve got it,” she says hurriedly.

Jughead grabs Archie’s arm, rolling his eyes, but smiling fondly as he drags the redhead to a safe distance away from the stove. “Arch, you know that we love you, but remember that time you set the ice cream on fire?”

“Well, at least let me get everyone a cup of coffee,” Archie says, standing and reaching for the pot, which Betty already had percolating. He snatches the handle, flings the pot out and somehow it breaks off the handle and smashes on the ground. Burning hot coffee and glass explode everywhere.

Betty shrieks, dancing away from the explosion and Jughead looks alarmed for a half-a second, until its apparent no one was hurt. Archie blushes like mad and Betty and Jughead start laughing.

 

*

 

That night, when Betty get home, her mom is waiting for her, sitting in the living room, an open bottle of white wine in front of her. The family photo album is spread out on the coffee table. Betty approaches cautiously. “Mom . . .?”

“Betty,” Alice takes a deep breath, draining her glass. She wipes her eyes. “You know I haven’t been _crazy_ about you dating Forsythe Pendleton . . .”

“ _Jughead_ , Mom,” Betty rolls her eyes, dropping her knapsack on the ground with a thud.

“. . . Jughead,” her mother repeats, barely hiding her shudder, like that nickname is just _so_ lower class. “But I’ve never said you couldn’t . . . date him.”

It was true, Jughead had been over for dinner several times – each of them as painfully, excruciatingly awkward and uncomfortable as humanly possible, but still.

Betty nods, but feels dread coiling in her stomach. “He’s a good person, Mom. He’s smart and nice and-”

“Yes, yes,” says Alice, impatiently shaking her head. “As I said, honey, I don’t . . . object to you dating Jughead, although I’m sure you could do better.”

“ _Mom_ -”

“But this . . . thing . . . happening with you and him and that Archie boy . . .”

“. . . what thing?” Betty asks, swallowing. She resists the urge to fidget – to reach up and adjust her ponytail or straighten her blouse.

“That’s what I’m asking _you_ , young lady,” her mother’s eyes narrow at her and Betty feels the chill spread over her skin. She doesn’t want to be dragged away to a cloister/insane asylum, like Polly. 

“Wha . . . huh? Nothing. Nothing. We’re friends, that’s all.”

“Yes _, friends,_ even though I’ve repeatedly told you not to speak to that Andrews boy – and what must Jughead think about this? You always hanging around with another boy?”

“Jughead’s fine with it, Mom, he’s Archie’s friend, too.”

Alice sniffs, pouring another glass. Betty wonders how many she’s had. “Yes, well . . . doesn’t Archie have his own girlfriend to hang out with? Are you two trying to find your friend a girlfriend?”

“No!” she says, before she can think better of it. Betty can feel her face getting hot, she can’t believe she’s having this conversation with her mom right now. “Archie doesn’t . . . need . . . a girlfriend, Mom.”

Cheryl Blossom always said she was a terrible liar anyway, so maybe that’s why she just takes a shaky breath and blurts out the truth: “he’s – we’re together. All three of us.”

Her mother looks up, dropping her glass. Her eyes are wide and wet. Her lip trembles. “No – _no_ , Elizabeth Cooper absolutely not! Absolutely not!”

“It’s not your choice, Mom.”

“I did not raise you this way! This . . . this is weird. And sick. And people will think – people will say you’re a slut, a whore. Is that what you want, Betty? People will think I’m a terrible mother. Don’t you know that?”

Tears start leaking from her mother’s eyes, and Betty can’t stand to look at her, but she also won’t apologize. “I love both Jughead and Archie, Mom. That’s the truth.”

“Well, you _can’t_! That’s not what people _do_!”  
  
Betty stands, crosses the room and takes her jacket.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Out.”

“No, you’re not. Go to your room, Betty!” her mother moves to snatch the jacket out of her hands, Betty steps away from her and sprints to the door. A second later she’s gone.

She doesn’t go over to Archie’s, but walks the other way.

She just walks and walks, hands shoved in her pockets, the wind tugging t her long hair. She walks for a long time, as the sky darkens above her.

 

*

 

After school, Archie has football practice and Betty has cheerleading. Jughead sits up in the bleachers, half-watching, but mostly reading a book, glancing up occasionally. And that’s okay, she thinks, she wouldn’t want to sit around in the cold and just watch other people practice things for an hour, either.

She can hear Coach Clayton barking orders at the boys on the other side of the field, as Cheryl makes cutting remarks about this or that girl’s performance. “Peppier! Perkier! Happier! You’re _cheer_ leaders. Well, some of you are just abject failures." 

Betty rolls her eyes, a year of cheerleading has made her immune to Cheryl’s shrillness and she tunes her out, going through the motions of their routine.

After practice ends, Betty sits with Jughead, still in her uniform. She leans her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes. Archie’s still running drills on the field below. “What are you reading?” she asks.

“Robert Frost.”

“Well, read me some of it,” she says, putting her arm through his and snuggling closer.

She can hear the slight amusement in his voice, but he complies:

 

_Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,_

_And sorry I could not travel both_

_And be one traveler, long I stood . . ._

 

Betty squeezes his arm. Her mother’s words and tears ricochet around in her head. She wonders if she is doing something wrong. If she was supposed to choose one of the boys – Jughead or Archie – even though the thought of choosing between them seems insane. Is she being selfish, trying to have both? Maybe it’s not even possible, to split herself up and travel both paths, both lives, bring them all together, have it all work out. 

Maybe she shouldn’t even be in the equation. Maybe she should remove herself, bow out gracefully and let Jughead and Archie have each other.

“Hey . . .” Jughead says softly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Everything all right?”

She hadn’t noticed, but she’s been dripping tears on his jacket. She wipes her eyes. “no. Yes.”

“You said ‘no’ first.”

Betty looks at Jughead. He’s so beautiful. His eyes are dark with worry that she put there. She presses their foreheads together. “No, no . . . I had a fight with my mom last night, that’s all.”

“I’m sorry,” he kisses her.

They’re still kissing when Archie, finished with practice and out of his uniform, donning his letterman jacket, climbs up to sit with them. “Am I interrupting?”

“Yes,” says Jughead, out of the corner of his mouth (he’s still kissing Betty), but then he grins and grabs Archie’s arm, pulling him closer. “Come here, you.” He kisses him, and Archie sits down on the other side of Jughead, one arm thrown around him.

“You’re reading Robert Frost? I love him!”

“Archie?” Betty laughs, “since when do you read poetry?”

He blushes, “we-ell, I might have started, you know, to make me a better lyricist.”

“Jughead was just reading to us . . .” she rests her chin on Jughead’s shoulder.

“I know you both know how to read,” Jughead says, and looking at Archie: “if only because Betty tutored you . . .”

“Come on, read to us Jughead, please?” Archie says, giving him the patent Andrews puppy eyes and kissing the side of his mouth. “Pretty please?”

Jughead blushes, but he can’t quite hide his smile and Betty can tell he’s pleased by the attention. He and Archie are really so perfect together – Archie’s sunny smiles and Jughead’s gloominess balancing each other out. She wonders why she didn’t see it before – it seems so obvious to her now. Her breath catches a little in her chest as Jughead reads.

She holds his arm tightly, like he’s an anchor holding her to this world. If her mother sends her away, like she did to Polly, how long will it be before her boys forget about her and realize all they need is each other? Would that even be a bad thing?

 

_Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-_

_I took the one less traveled by,_

_And that has made all the difference._


End file.
